Under the haunting glow of the lantern, the throne room lay wrapped in shadows as if darkness itself clung to the walls. Samuel, the young emperor, sat on his throne, eyes hooded and unblinking as he watched Cassidy approach. The room was dead silent save for the faint whisper of rain tapping against the ancient stone windows. Cassidy, ever the tradesman, strode forward with an easy confidence, but a careful step, his expression unreadable as he knelt down, tipping his hat in deference.
“Your Highness,” he began, lifting his head only slightly, his eyes catching the faint light. “The southern territories... I’ve prepared a map of their defenses. With a little nudge, we could take them as our own.”
Cassidy’s tone was casual, almost familiar, as if they were discussing a simple trade rather than the capture of entire kingdoms. Samuel gave a slight nod, his face unmoving, as shadows drifted behind him, twisting in the room like watchful wraiths. Just then, the heavy doors flew open, and a guard stumbled in, soaked from the rain, his lantern barely casting enough light to penetrate the room’s dense darkness. He froze for a moment, unnerved by the thick, unnatural aura that seemed to pulse around Samuel’s figure.
The guard, trembling, bent down on one knee, holding the lantern in front of him as if it were a shield. “Your Highness,” he stammered, his voice cracking, “a messenger has arrived… they wish to discuss a truce.”
The shadows seemed to deepen around Samuel, pressing close, wrapping the air in cold. He leaned forward slightly, and the guard flinched, beads of sweat rolling down his face despite the chill. “What makes them think they have the right to propose terms?” Samuel’s voice was quiet, cold, almost soft, but it held a weight that made the guard grip his lantern tighter, barely able to lift his head.
Cassidy looked on, a sly grin tugging at the corner of his lips. “Do you really think a truce will keep their kingdom safe?” he murmured, his eyes glinting with mischief.
Samuel’s gaze shifted to him, his eyes dark and unreadable, a hint of something sinister beneath his expression. “No,” he replied, his tone sharper than the edge of a blade. “They’ll regret even suggesting it.”
Cassidy stifled a chuckle, pretending to study the map in his hands, but a chill ran through him as he glanced at the emperor’s face. This was Samuel at his coldest—a king forged by war, burdened by power. And though Cassidy’s years as a tradesman had hardened him, Samuel’s silent intensity was something he’d never grown used to.
The guard, sensing the emperor’s displeasure, quickly backed away. As he turned to leave, Samuel’s voice cut through the darkness, sharp and demanding. “Wait..” The guard froze in place, eyes wide. Samuel’s gaze seemed to pierce through him, unyielding. “Inform them we shall meet. But on our terms.”
The guard nodded frantically, practically bolting from the room with his lantern clutched tight, leaving only faint echoes of hurried footsteps in the distance.
Once the doors closed, Cassidy straightened, his playful demeanor fading as he turned to Samuel. “And what exactly do you plan to do with this… truce?” he asked, his voice low, cautious.
A dark smile crept onto Samuel’s lips, sending a chill straight through Cassidy. There was a faint rustling, the sound of whispers that seemed to grow louder as they echoed off the stone walls. Cassidy, no stranger to dark magic, still found himself unsettled by the way the shadows seemed to coil around his brother.
As Cassidy straightened, he felt a strange urge to flee, as though he were standing on the edge of something vast and terrible. Samuel’s eyes never left him, a shadowed grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.
When Cassidy finally left, the whispers seemed to settle, but Samuel remained seated, bathed in shadows, his expression unreadable, waiting, planning.
The throne room fell into a chilling silence. Shadows clung to the walls and floors, whispers curling through the dim light like fog. Samuel leaned back, the quiet weight of the room pressing down. The shadows were stirring, dark voices lingering at the edges of his mind.
One voice rose above the rest, deeper and colder, slipping past the others like an unwelcome truth.
“Is this all there is, Emperor?” it asked, low and taunting, with a tone that cut through the silence like ice. “You rule this kingdom with iron and fire, but look around—see what it’s become. A kingdom cloaked in endless storms, ruled by fear, not loyalty.”
Samuel’s jaw tensed, but he let the voice continue, each word sinking in with a dull ache he wouldn’t allow to show.
“Seven years,” the shadow murmured, drifting closer, taking on a form darker and denser than the rest, with piercing, almost human-like eyes that watched him unblinkingly. “Seven years, and still you sit here alone. Every ally is a pawn, every friend a ghost. Is it loyalty that drives them to you—or fear?”
Samuel’s gaze sharpened, unyielding. “Fear,” he replied, his voice calm, steady. “Fear is loyalty, if wielded correctly.”
The shadow let out a low, mirthless laugh. “Ah, but even the strongest chains rust, Samuel. Ruling by fear alone breeds resentment, and resentment festers. The storm that brews outside isn’t just rain. It’s a reflection of what you’ve built—cold, relentless, and empty. How long before it consumes even you?”
A flicker of frustration crossed his expression, though he buried it almost instantly. He knew the truth in those words but refused to give them ground. This kingdom had been his to shape, to keep safe and strong, and if it cost him his own warmth, then so be it.
But the shadow wasn’t finished. It leaned in, the darkness thickening, voice barely a whisper now, as if it knew just how close it had come to piercing his armor. “Tell me, Samuel, do you even remember what joy feels like? Or have you traded it all for a crown that gives you nothing back?”
The silence that followed was suffocating, the weight of the question pressing down on him. Samuel’s hand tightened over the arm of his throne. “Joy is fleeting,” he answered, his voice low, steady. “Power endures.”
“Is that what you tell yourself?” The shadow’s voice was softer now, almost pitying, and for a moment, it was as if it looked right through him, down to the last guarded corner of his mind. “Then I pity you, Emperor,” it whispered, stepping back into the shadows. “For when power is all that’s left, even you may find it…unsatisfying.”
The darkness lingered a moment longer, then faded, leaving the throne room in a heavy, hollow quiet. Samuel sat alone, but the words lingered, like the distant echo of a storm yet to come.
